


A Matter of Convenience

by orphan_account



Series: Fill the Void [30]
Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake Character Death, FakeHaus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bruce should know better than to fall in love with a potential mark.But as the rest of his crew would say, he had a soft spot for people with doe eyes.
Relationships: Bruce Greene/Joel Rubin
Series: Fill the Void [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663750
Kudos: 6





	A Matter of Convenience

When you’re in a gang, the most important thing you could have is connections. A little black book even that has ever phone number of every smuggler, every hitman, every contractor, and every dirty city councilor. The best connections to have are those in politics, because they can make anything disappear under the rug. They can make something appear legal.

Bruce meets Councillor Joel Rubin just when his crew is starting to make in the big leagues. It happens quite by accident. He was there at the upscale bar thinking that it could be a good place to hold up and rob everyone blind when he spotted him.

It was clear then that Joel was not having a good night. Not the way he was sitting alone at the bar, tipping back a scotch glass. He looked like he had a rough day. Now Bruce was only mildly into politics, only for the reason of keeping his crew afloat, but he knew of Joel a little bit. Had heard of his name. He was outspoken, he had a sense of flair and an elegant way of speaking. But he wasn’t successful in politics. His motions were blocked from passing. He was alone in a den of wolves. It was nothing against Joel as a politician. It was all against him just for being him. He wasn’t popular. He wouldn’t make it against the cutthroats that had probably been in politics their entire lives, picking up where their parents left off.

Bruce likes to think that he’s a good man. Example: he came here dressed in the appropriate clothing of a suit jacket and trousers instead of his usual shorts and a t-shirt. But he also knew that Joel had a weak spot—namely his unpopularity. He could use that.

So he sat down beside Joel that night and ordered himself a drink.

“Rough day?” he said, nodding in Joel’s direction.

Joel scoffed. “Is it that obvious?”

“I got a shoulder you can lean on.”

Joel smiled, tipped back his glass and set his glass down. He turned in his seat a bit to look at Bruce more directly. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Do I stick out that much?”

“If you haven’t noticed, this is a city council bar. Councillors only go here because it’s not that far of a drive from their offices and yet far enough from their houses where they’ll have enough time to sober up. You’re not on the city council.”

Bruce nodded. “No, I’m not. Keen eye, though.”

Joel made a gesture like that of ‘voila.’ “Not like that keen eye will get me anywhere.” He bit his tongue and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I won’t be good company for you tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” Bruce said. “Just thought you looked lonely.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“I’ve been to enough bars to notice certain behaviours.”

“And what behaviours would that be, Mr… .”

“Greene,” he said. “Bruce Greene.”

Joel was holding his gaze, studying him curiously and probably pulling away all his layers until all that was left was a notorious Fakehaus crew member. He often wonders if Joel figured out who he was that night, if the slightly discoloured knuckles on both hands said anything.

It didn’t really matter at the end of the night because it took for a sudden and welcome turn. He was backing Joel up into the bathroom and locking the door behind him as Joel pressed him against it, lips desperately seeking out his.

Bruce normally tries to stick to a zero-fraternizing policy with people he works with. It makes it less messy that way. But Joel’s different. Joel sparks something inside of him. Joel is a challenge and a blessing all rolled into one, and Bruce never thought he could feel something like this for someone else.

He came into his apartment one night to find Joel already there, sat in the old and cracked leather chair underneath the lamp in the corner. Bruce was just getting back from an intense scuffle with someone who was pushing into his territory. He had a split lip and needed to get some ice on his knuckles. He closed the door softly and remained by the entrance.

“I should’ve pegged you for a criminal,” Joel said.

There was no broken window, nothing that said Joel had forced his way in. Bruce would later learn that he picked the lock, that Joel had more skills than just knowing how to talk.

“Funny,” Bruce said. “I didn’t peg you for the B&E type.”

Joel regarded him carefully for a moment. “I know who you are.”

“Then why are you here?” Bruce then moved into the room, sat down across from him. Joel seemed entirely passive.

“Because I wanted to ask if you could help me.” He cast his eyes down just briefly in a show of embarrassment. He was ashamed of coming to Bruce like this, was probably in such a tough position that he could only trust Bruce—a man he’d fumbled around in bed with on several occasions.

“What is it?”

Joel clasped his hands together. “I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

They talked long into the night about Joel’s predicament. His fear that someone was trying to kill him wasn’t completely out of left field. He said there was a car parked outside of his house for the last three days. Only in the odd hours of the night when he was supposed to be sleeping. Like someone was watching him, marking down his routine.

“I know I’m not a popular politician,” he said. “But there are people who would rather see me dead because of the things I know.”

“And what do you know?” Because as much as Bruce liked the guy, he wanted to know about every dirty little secret he had to make sure this was worth his time.

“I know about illegal policies being made to give the LSPD a lot more fire power. And that means a lot more people will die because of cops with itchy trigger fingers.”

“Then why did you come to me? I’m already a cop killer.”

Joel didn’t flinch at the admission like he thought he would. Instead, he looked at him. “I know who I’m dealing with, Bruce. You and your crew will probably be the first to die because of this.”

Bruce didn’t know if that was supposed to guilt trip him or was an admission of Joel’s own compromised objectivity into admitting that he liked Bruce. Whatever the truth was, he wasn’t going to deny him his request.

* * *

At first it was strictly a business relationship. He added Joel to the crew’s client list and ignored the pointed looks they gave to him whenever Joel was mentioned.

“Seriously?” Lawrence said. “The politician you’re fucking.”

“He’s paying and he has intel,” he said. “It’s in our best interest.”

“Whatever you say.” Lawrence didn’t sound like he believed him, but at the end of the day Bruce was still his boss. He didn’t need anyone getting into his domestic affairs.

They established round the clock surveillance and protection services, getting Joel to and from work safely. During Bruce’s scheduled nights at his house, they would often drift away from the topic of business to more lighthearted ones. Or they would just have sex on the couch, the bedroom, the bathroom because Joel needed to leave everything behind and Bruce was a weak man.

He was pulling on his clothes from where they were scattered on the floor of Joel’s bedroom when Joel spoke up. He was wearing only a silk bathrobe, wet hair upon the pillow from where he lay.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For everything. I honestly haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s what you hired us for.”

“No, no, I mean—” He laughed softly. “You _know_ what I mean.”

Bruce did. He was just too stubborn to admit it. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I know.” He cupped Joel’s jaw, bending to kiss him.

He made Joel feel less alone—more loved. He just didn’t want to admit that he felt the same way, and he didn’t know why.

* * *

They kept this cozy relationship for quite some time. Bruce never going so far as to admitting his feelings but always letting Joel curl around him when it was just the two of them.

Lawrence would call him out on being unprofessional. While Bruce had no issues about the crew sleeping with each other, he had qualms about them sleeping with clients, cops, people that would always bring with them the wrong attention.

Bruce was fully aware of what he was doing. He just couldn’t help himself.

Adam said it was because had a thing for people with doe eyes. And Elyse would add that he had a type, for people in need of help. Big bad Bruce wanting to feel useful in a relationship.

“Like what you had with Adam,” she’d said. “Until he got to a better place in life and you guys parted ways.”

“Or me,” Lawrence would add.

“Or Lawrence. It’s nothing bad. It’s just that he’s a client and we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He knew it was coming out of a place of concern, but he couldn’t stop when it came to Joel, not like he did with Adam or Lawrence, when they realized that they were better off friends, getting the comfort and the healing that they needed before deciding to move on.

* * *

They were driving Joel home with extra security one afternoon. It had been a rough day for Joel in the chambers and so extra hands were needed. He had Adam driving then with himself in the back with Joel. They were at a red light, Joel making comments about the day’s events when the gun went off.

Two shots. Through the glass. Joel was hit just as the light turned green. Bruce yelled at Adam to drive just as Joel fell against the seat. He was hit only once in the chest. Blood was pumping out, and Bruce was pulling off his jacket to staunch the wound.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Hospital. Now.” Adam drove silently. Joel was pale, eyes wide, too shocked to speak. Bruce kept the pressure on. It was all he could do.

Bruce met the gurney as he carried Joel into the hospital. The surgeon team met them and took Joel straight to the OR. He was rational enough to answer most of the questions the staff had for him. They didn’t leave, not right away, only kept an eye on anyone suspicious sent to finish the job. Hours later, the surgeon came out to greet them.

“I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do.”

“Bruce,” Adam said. “We should leave now.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Mourning and grief weren’t a part of the job. Joel was dead, and Bruce had to move on to keep his crew going.

* * *

It’s not easy leaving it like that. It’s not easy just casting off that part of his life like it meant nothing. It’s not easy to just take the money, the information, whatever Joel them and run with it. But he makes it look easy because the safety of his crew should come first.

They walked on eggshells after that around him. They didn’t want to push him too far to the point where he pushed back and would say things he might regret. Bruce was and is not an easy man to love. He snaps and growls when anyone genuine comes his way. Elyse is right when she says he has a type. He only ever wants a relationship when someone needs him and he feels like he can provide it. If they don’t need anything, then he just doesn’t have time for them.

He isn’t saying it’s a healthy way of constructing relationships. He just has no idea how to do it, and the one person that really meant to him is dead, so. There’s that.

Life goes on. The crew adapts, finds other ways to make money, move around, never leave the city.

It’s two years after the fact, and Bruce is still feeling bitter about it. He’s at home alone—as per usual—when the knock comes. He gets up to answer it, opens the door and is met with a stranger’s back. At first he thinks it’s a new neighbour of his, just down the hall or something, and so says, “Can I help you?”

The stranger turns, pushes his sunglasses up into black curly hair. He’s no longer as pristinely dressed, but still wearing designer clothing. Still looks like he did nearly two years ago.

Bruce feels something crash and burn in his gut.

Joel licks his lips. “May I come in?” he asks.

Bruce says nothing, only turns and leaves the door open for him to follow. Joel does, closing the door quietly and coming to follow Bruce into the living room where they both take a seat.

Bruce can’t look at him. Not now. So he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the window for the time being while Joel sits, hands clasps, elbows resting on his knees.

“Let me explain—” he says.

“You died,” Bruce says.

“Just let me—”

“You died. And what? You feel guilty now? You want to come back and pick up where we left off?” He turns to look at Joel now, Joel with the bright, keen eyes. Joel with the eyes that look sadder, look older.

“If you let me _fucking_ explain, then you can shout at me all you want,” he says. And he sounds different than the Joel he knew before. Harder, less apologetic, more cutthroat than the sweet talking man he knew in bed. And Bruce wonders if only a version of Joel died that day and what he’s seeing now is Joel as he actually is.

“I knew I was going to get shot,” Joel says. “It was going to happen sooner or later, but I needed help in making sure those policies didn’t pass. I was never going to get the votes I needed to dismiss them, so I needed to approach it a different way. You finding me in that bar was just … convenient.”

 _Convenient._ It makes Bruce feel so dirty and used.

“Was what we had just convenient then?” Bruce asks. Because he knows Joel felt something for him. He _knows_ he did.

Joel sits back against the couch, slouches a little. “No, it wasn’t. Call it a perk then. But after I’d been shot, I bribed the surgeon to tell you I died if I made it through the surgery. I did and everyone thought I was dead. By then Lawrence would’ve had the right material to make those polices void and I’m scot free.”

“To do what?”

Joel shrugs. “Travel. See the world. Not be bogged down by trust fund kids who matured into raging alcoholics and men who cheat on their wives. I wanted no part of that any longer, so I faked my death.”

“And you couldn’t stay gone?” Bruce asks, voice rising in pitch. “You go through all of that and you don’t have the courtesy of dropping me a postcard or something?”

“What was I supposed to do? They were going to kill me. I couldn’t have you watching over me all the time.”

“I wouldn’t have minded!” Bruce says. “I don’t know if you’d noticed, but I actually _cared_ about you. Did I just completely misread that? Or was all of what we had just a matter of _convenience_?”

Joel huffs. “Of course it wasn’t,” he says, softer this time, but with still that same edge that Bruce didn’t know he had. “Would it make it better if I say I regret not coming back sooner?”

“No,” Bruce says. “But it’s a start.”

Joel smiles a bit, but it fades away when Bruce doesn’t return the gesture. “Loving someone is a hazard in my occupation. I assume it is in yours, too. If we can’t find a way to pick up the pieces between us, then I’d like to at least offer my services. I have names, contacts. I can be a straw-man for you assuming you don’t have one.”

If they couldn’t be together in the way that Bruce missed, then maybe a work relationship would be best.

* * *

But of course they fall back on old habits, end up in Bruce’s bed more times than he can count. It’s only for the sex. Joel’s out the door with a quiet farewell before the clocks turns over to midnight. That’s all they can handle right now. Well. It’s all Bruce can handle. His foolish hear is too weak to bear Joel any closer than that, but this pattern doesn’t last.

Eventually, Joel stays longer and longer until they’re both half asleep, lying next to each other. The pale moonlight shows off the ugly scar on his chest. The webbing of it, the surgery scars, everything. All laid bare for Bruce to see.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks. He runs his fingers down the worst of it. Joel shivers beneath his touch.

“Yes,” he says, eyes far up on the ceiling, far away from here. “It would’ve been easier to have you help me, but that would’ve painted target on your back and I just couldn’t let you get more involved than you already were.”

“We could’ve figured something out.”

Joel smiles and turns to face him. “I don’t think I would’ve let you then. I told myself I didn’t care that much about it. That it was all for the act. But. I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Bruce sets the entirety of his hand over the scar, covering it effectively. “Would you like to start over?” he asks.

“Only if you do.”

“I think I do.”

Joel’s the first to lean in for a kiss. And, well, Bruce did say he had no issues with crewmates sleeping with each other.

This time, he allows it.


End file.
